


Lullabies

by playwithdinos



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-09 03:18:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6887632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/playwithdinos/pseuds/playwithdinos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian supposes that hating Halward Pavus would be easier if his father never loved him. That he should move on in his life, and let the name Pavus be the only thing he takes from the man.</p><p>He almost succeeds. Then Felix falls, rather neatly, into their lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lullabies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ajir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ajir/gifts).



> For Round 5 of [DA Fic Swap](http://daficswap.tumblr.com/), featuring the lovely [lateforerebor](http://lateforerebor.tumblr.com/)'s Vaxus Trevelyen, Dorian, and their adopted son Felix.

Dorian supposes that hating Halward Pavus would be easier if his father never loved him.

This is not a new thought—not a new thing to be churning around in his mind, this little bright and gleaming cog among all the filthy, jumbled clockwork that makes up Dorian’s memories of his father. The one that still turns right, when all the others would stutter and fail without it.

Sometimes he wishes it would tarnish. That he could find some long-repressed memory that will show his father’s to be a false thing from the start—and _then_ he might wash his hands of the whole mess. Move on with his life, and let the name Pavus and a seat in the magisterium be the only things he takes from his father.

He almost— _almost_ succeeds.

Then Felix falls, rather neatly, into their lives.

 

“Your son is still screaming.”

Dorian is certain that Vaxus’ response is, in fact, utterly inappropriate for young ears. Never mind that the beholder of said ears is but two hours into his fourth day on Thedas, or that the words themselves cannot be heard over his unending _howling_.

“What? Speak up, please, I cannot hear you over the sound of a very small despair demon.”

Dorian finds it utterly unfair that Vaxus still has the ability to laugh. All _he’s_ been able to do is grow ever more snappish and disheveled the longer this goes on.

Vaxus is in bed, although he’s managed to sit up now. Blinking slowly, and a smile spreading across his features that is as equally vexing as it is charming.

“He’s a baby,” Vaxus informs Dorian, a level of amusement in his words that is simply _ridiculous_ , for how little sleep they’ve both gotten. “They do that.”

Infuriating man.

“Yes, and he’s taking as well to me as he is to the cow’s milk.” Dorian winces as a renewed wave of screaming assaults his ears, an impossible sound from the equally small burden in his arms. There is a woman arriving later today who will be able to breastfeed him, but little Felix has been constantly ill from day one and Dorian has seen things in the baby’s diapers that he will probably never forget. “He likes you so much better. Take him and make him stop.”

“Did you try talking to him?” Vaxus asks. Pale eyes catching the candlelight, crinkling at the corners.

“Yes, I asked very politely if he would stop. And he has prepared a dissertation in response! He is currently on article fifteen, section twelve, of why he will _not_.”

Vaxus laughs again, which only makes Dorian more miserable.

“ _Amatus_ ,” he scolds, watching as Vaxus stands. Comes around to the other side of the bed.

“And how are his arguments?” he wonders, reaching with his good arm to take the child away. “Sound?”

“Not unreasonable, I suppose. What he lacks in articulation he makes up for in sheer volume.” Dorian tries to pass Felix over, and tries not to feel utterly relieved to be rid of the screaming baby. But the wailing only doubles when Dorian shifts the baby ever so _slightly_ away from himself.

They both wince. “Apparently he likes you just fine,” Vaxus says—and this close now, Dorian can see the exhaustion at the edges of his infuriating, ever-present smile. The worry in his eyes as they flick over the impossibly small person making tiny fists in the air between them.

“Yes, well. He’d certainly fit in on the senate floor.”

Dorian watches Vaxus raise a hand and touch the baby’s cheek. Felix does not stop howling, but he reaches up and grabs the finger in his little grip. Holds on tight, and does not let go.

He opens his mouth with another clever quip—oh but he’s had too much time awake to come up with _those_ these last few days—when Vaxus begins to sing.

Halting and slow, Dorian does not recognise the melody. Neither does his lover hold it particularly _well_ , but he finds that he cannot fault him for trying. He stands there, Vaxus shifting ever closer, until they are all three pressed together—until Dorian can feel the warmth of his lover’s breath as he sings, _poorly_ , for the infant in Dorian’s arms.

But—this closeness, the softness of a voice—it sparks something in Dorian’s memory. Of a warm smile, strong hands. _A bad dream, Dorian?_

Oh, he thinks, as his lover— _who hates singing_ —calms little Felix. Remembers a gentle laugh, being scooped up in familiar arms.

_Very well, then. How about a story then? The one about the boy who became Archon?_

The ringing of silence in his ears is so loud that it takes him a moment to realise Felix has stopped crying, and has fallen utterly asleep in Dorian’s arms.

It takes Vaxus’ concerned look to realise that _he is_.

“Ah,” Dorian whispers—and he cannot wipe the tears from his face to hide them. Cannot even turn his face in shame, with Vaxus so close. He closes his eyes instead. “Your dulcet tones make me weep for their beauty, _amatus_.”

But there is only a soft, understanding hum in response—and it sounds like a smile, like concern filed away for later. Then the press of Vaxus’ forehead to his, the even, uninterrupted breathing of the child in his arms.

At length, Dorian whispers, “This is the longest he’s slept in days.”

Vaxus huffs in amusement. “I think we’re stuck like this til morning.”

It’s Dorian’s turn to laugh, then—something soft, so as not to wake poor Felix. The baby stirs some, clings tighter to Vaxus’ finger. The other hand goes to his little mouth, half his fist neatly tucked inside.

“I think we’d best learn to sleep standing,” Dorian murmurs. Blinking away tears of an entirely different kind.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, find me on tumblr at [playwithdinos](http://playwithdinos.tumblr.com/) or [dinoswrites](http://dinoswrites.tumblr.com/).


End file.
